


glass houses

by lotesse



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-04
Updated: 2005-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-09 03:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotesse/pseuds/lotesse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not the first time. They both know that neither of them have the answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	glass houses

Pansy is wet-faced and crying when they tumble down onto the bed, her hands balled into tight, angry, impotent fists. "How dare they, she grits out. "How dare they." And it is not a question.

He doesn't answer, and she doesn't expect him to. It's not the first time. They both know that neither of them have the answers. But he reaches out one pale, long-fingered hand to touch her instead. She closes her eyes as the pad of his thumb lightly smooths over the edges of her lips, trails delicately along her neck. Pansy moans into Draco's palm as his hands' wandering becomes more and more daring. The bed is small and cramped with the two of them in it, and the charmed-shut drapes create an eerie greenish light that makes him strange, even to her, the one who knows him better than anybody. She can't see his face, and as he presses against her she feels as if he were trying to bury himself in her body, to merge with her and lose himself for a while, and she wishes that her body was not so sparse and small so that he could. She wishes she were big enough to give him forgetting, but already the heat of her anger is transforming to another heat, just as wild.

He pulls back and looks at her, his face flushed and hair almost comically disordered, and the need is naked in his eyes. "Pansy," he gasps, and she smiles up at him, a cat-smile, pretending that she is aloof and not at all ruffled by the actions of his hands and tongue, not even cognizant of the way his gaze devours her or of the hardness she can feel pressing against her inner thigh. Playing that moments ago she was not angry and hurt. And there's another part to the smile, a hidden-away part that means that he really has forgotten for a moment and she's so terribly glad. She knows that he is not fooled, that he knows that she feels like her panties are dripping because she wants him so badly, and that the tears could still come back at any minute. But she plays at being sophisticated and grown-up, and he lets her, and she loves him so much for it at that moment that she feels as though her heart could burst.

Her dress is already partway off, and as she squirms out of the garment that he can never seem to get the hang of removing she feels wonderfully daring, even more so when she's lying there on his expensive cotton sheets in just her bra and panties. For a second she just lies there, feeling like a movie star, all glamorous and languorous and desired. She reaches up and tugs Draco's tie off, and fumbles for a moment with the tiny buttons on his collar before they flick open. She isn't quite elegant, not yet. He is midwinter pale, and for a moment looks very young, and she kisses him again, lonely already for the feeling of his mouth on hers.

She breaks away at last, lying in a soft curve on his bed, and he looks down at her, his eyes hungry and possessive and masterful, and she closes her own as a shiver of delicious pleasure runs through her. She knows what will come next.

When she looks back up at him his trousers have joined her clothing on the floor, and his long pale fingers are wrapped around his hard and straining cock, moving up and down fiercely, the gleaming drop of come slowly running down its length as she watches. He sees her looking, and smirks, raising an aristocratic eyebrow with a coolness that doesn't fool her, has never fooled her. She knows that he wants her, knows that she wants him. He leans down to kiss her, his body cold from the moments spent detached from hers, and she arches up against him to warm his flesh again. She loves the feel of their bodies pressing together, the passionate wanting impossible tug between union and her self. She loves they way that they become some sort of fantastic Draco-and-Pansy creature, neither quite themselves but alchemically transformed into something else. Something magical, something whole, something free.

Her breath comes in hitches as he trails messy kisses down her breastbone, her belly, and she moans, pulling him closer. He looks down at her with a cocky smile. "Do you want me, Parkinson?"

"Oh, Draco, please…" she can't think, can't breathe, can't speak, not while she's this half-Pansy-thing that wants oh so badly. "Please, yes, oh," and the strings of syllables fall to the sheets, meaningless and meaningful, and he pulls back. The smile is gone, replaced with a look of stark wonder that sends desire jolting through her, and he slowly spreads the aching wetness of her body so as to spare her any pain when he slides home.

The heat of him, the heat filling her, it drives her mad and she gasps, arching, driving herself onto his hard cock, clenching around him and fiercely pulling his body against hers, and he cries out and clutches at her slight shoulders and thrusts, again and again and again, fucks her intently, she's crying his name and doesn't know what else and the sensations are so much bigger than she is that she shatters like a glass statue in his arms, and as her shards fall back to the bed he breaks with her, spilling himself inside of her in a great wave of warmth, and they lie there, broken with each other, fused and recreated among the detritus of sex.

He draws in a great breath, and sits up to look at her. When he pulls out she feels bereft, but only for a moment, because his lithe body is there curled around hers, and he's smiling at her. "How was it?" he asks, cocky again, smiling and knowing the answer all ready, and she just smiles back at him, because she can't say it, and she can only ever hope that he knows.

She loves him more than anything, with more force and passion than her little body can hold. But they never say that they love each other.


End file.
